


Wildflowers

by righteousroompeople



Category: Tom Petty (Musician)
Genre: Bye Tom, Gen, Kinda Songfic, Of multiple songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 06:43:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12451795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/righteousroompeople/pseuds/righteousroompeople
Summary: Tom finds out what belonging somewhere means.





	Wildflowers

When you wake up at 4 a.m., you usually know something's not right, but your mind is too foggy to fully acknowledge it. Maybe something little, such as you're not in your bed doesn't even bother you at all.

That's what happened to Tom, too. He opened his eyes, feeling somehow uncomfortable. He was lying under the starry sky, but from East, he could already see the Sun rising.  
He sat up, looking at his hands. They were not very clean, with a bit of dirt and grass and daisies stuck to them.  
"Eh," he stated, and started to clean his hands as well as he could.

He stood up, still not very aware of how and why he was in the middle of a meadow in the middle of the night... That wasn't true. It was dawn now.  
The grass seemed to glow blue under the moon, and the thousands and thousands of daisies were sparkling just as bright as the stars above.

"Hey!" he shouted, to see if someone or something heard him at all. But nothing responded. A breeze blew through the meadow, but no foxes jumped, no deer looked up and ran away, no crickets silenced themselves. There were no crickets to silence, Tom realised.  
"Well, isn't this thrilling," he murmured, stabbing his heels into the soft ground with a kick, "just what I wanted to do today. Exactly what I had in my mind when I went to sleep."

The Sun was slowly inching its way higher upon the skyline, making the grass seem greener.  
Tom was walking in circles around the meadow, although he knew very well that it wouldn't lead to anything. Yes, he could've just gone and walked in a straight line, but as far as he could see, there was nothing but meadow everywhere.  
"But my eyesight isn't poor at all," he thought, and reached into his pocket, to see if his sunglasses were there. He remembered last night, when he went to sleep, he put the sunglasses in his pyjama pocket.  
This made him realise that he wasn't wearing his pyjamas now, but his sunglasses were indeed in his pocket.  
"I must be dreaming then. Workin' on a mystery, that's what I should do? Goin' wherever it leads."

So he put his sunglasses on, adjusted them and started walking to where the Sun came up.

***

He was careful, but occasionally, he still stepped on one or two daisies. There were also dandelions, succories and cornflowers, but they seemed to bend just so there was no way he could hurt them. Only the daisies. Why was that?  
It was a great pastime, thinking about the nature of wildflowers and trying not to step on them.

"Tom?" someone called after him. Or before him. It was a familiar voice, familiar enough for him to halt, look up and place his foot down so he'd immediately step on three flowers in one go.  
"Harrison!" he grinned quietly. Not that one could grin loudly, he guessed. "What in the world am I doing here?"  
"How should I know?" George asked back, and sat down. "Come on, rest some, you've been running like that for years!"  
"Really? I didn't notice. Wasn't it like, I dunno, four hours?" but he knelt down and tried to find a flowerless area where he could sit.  
"Years. Be careful with the moonflowers," George looked at him, his eyes their usual wise brown.

Was he right? All Tom could see was a ton of daisies, no dandelions, no cornflowers.  
"Moonflowers, you say," he turned his head to the side a bit. "Aren't these daisies?"  
George gently rolled his eyes, and handed a guitar to Tom.  
"Sounds different like this, doesn't it? And looks different. It's the same. Be careful with them. And just sit down."

Tom took the guitar from George, wondering where he got it, because he was pretty sure a minute ago there was no guitar with him. Or was that a century? He'd never know.

"Look at that," George pointed at the spot where his feet were while he was standing. The three flowers he was standing on were very much alive.  
"Oh, but I thought-" he stared at his friend, confused.  
"They should be grateful, you know," George plucked at his guitar, "you were as careful as you could be, whether they were daisies or moonflowers or dandelions. You won't hurt anyone."

Tom tuned his guitar, too, looking at the endless meadow. It was a nice place, and he had no problem with staying somewhere he didn't, couldn't hurt anyone. That felt good, like he belonged there.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a (bit belated) fic for Tom. I hope you're alright, and you don't feel a little lonely tonight. You're missed.


End file.
